An Arabian Night
by blissful catatonia
Summary: Journeying to India to broaden their minds Maria learns more than she bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Maria dropped down onto the cushions piled on the floor and blew out an exasperated puff of air; the heat of the sun had long since dissipated, but the humidity had not lessened one jot and her clothes were sticking to her flesh, which only served to further annoy the Englishwoman. For the past hour the gentle sounds of the musician plucking the strings of his qanun told her the men enjoying the feast were still eating, but in the past few minutes she had heard the duduk and riq adding their melodic voices to the soft strings – things would no doubt liven up soon.

With each pluck of his instrument she felt like what he was really doing was twanging on her last frayed nerve. In her mind's eye she could see the scantily clad dancers, moving their hips perfectly in time with the slow tempo of the music, teasing and tempting the men sitting around the table. Casting a disapproving eye around her room she searched for something that would serve to distract her, but here in this place of fine silks and glass so fragile it would break if you stepped too hard beside it there was nothing for her to hit – or at least nothing she could afford to replace.

They had been travelling to the harbour of Imam Khomeini in what Maria called Persia in order to book passage to India. Altaïr felt the last part of their journey would be quicker and safer by sea and she had no reason to doubt him; anything that would keep him away from endangered citizens or madrasahs could only speed up their progress. The man had a seemingly unquenchable thirst for knowledge matched only by his strong sense of justice; he simply could not pass a wise man or a civilian in trouble and had gotten them into some fairly serious scrapes along the way.

She would huff and complain before he entered the schools, but the truth was it was only because she wasn't allowed to go in. He would come out hours later armed with parchments and information which he would share with her, never becoming frustrated if she didn't grasp what he was saying quickly. Many a day had been brought to a close with them both sitting beside their campsite reading by the last light of the setting sun, and so their progress had been slow but utterly rewarding.

When she first joined him on this journey it was her natural curiosity that had been the driving force behind her decision, and they still had many quarrels about their different views, but as the weeks passed those became less until they eventually reached a point where discussion could solve most of their problems. She was still in her Templar robes and he still wearing the garbs of his order, but that hardly mattered to her anymore. They had become clothes and nothing more; any symbolism she once attached to them had faded; that is, until they had reached Najaf and met up with a man who reminded her how different they were.

His name was Qamar Al Assad, and he was one of the wealthiest men in the southern region of the Holy Land. Altaïr fascinated the man, and so they had been invited to travel with him to his home on the Persian border so they could spend some time perusing his vast library. It was on an almost direct path to the port they were trying to reach, so any refusal on her part would have been churlish; besides, she had to admit the men were well met. Qamar surrounded himself with scholars and spent virtually every waking hour deep in conversation with them. Altaïr had found a kindred spirit, and so it was they had travelled with him and his silk trade caravan to his home near the port where they would sail for India.

Qamar's welcome was extended to Maria, but she was fully aware he disapproved of her, considering she was both a Crusader and a single woman travelling with a man who was not her husband. She could see why, but when she overheard two of his guards mocking her that understanding didn't shield her from the sting in their words.

"Why is that woman here?"

"She is a companion of the assassin, and so we must tolerate her presence."

"If he was bedding her I could better understand, but she sleeps with the women. Hopefully the time he is spending with our Master will show him that Crusaders are to be driven from our shores and not befriended."

The other guard had laughed. "And that women are good for many things, but friendship is not among them."

Maria had stayed low behind the cart when they spoke and waited until long after they had moved on before she came out. She wasn't offended by their mocking her gender: it was how they questioned her right to be considered a friend that troubled her.

She had spent the better part of the trip to his home travelling with the women, but Altaïr would still find her to share some of what he had learned and that made it almost tolerable. The night she overheard the guards talking she had declined his invitation to join him, telling him she was too tired, but he had persisted.

"Maria, we have a great deal to discuss; I have much to share."

She rolled her eyes, irritated by his enthusiasm when she herself felt so miserable. "You always have much to share. Sherazade herself would be envious."

His head had dropped momentarily. Had she wounded him? "I'm sorry. I thought you looked forward to our chats. I will stop pestering you."

Catching his sleeve as he turned away she apologised. "I'm sorry, I do look forward to them. I suppose spending all my days with these chattering women has put me out of sorts. Please stay."

And so he had but it was spoiled; she had wounded him, and the passion that usually lit up his face during these talks was absent. They were sitting off to the side of the caravan beside a small fire with the obligatory books scattered around them, but it wasn't the same. He hadn't spoken for a few minutes, instead keeping his head buried in one of the books and Maria decided to use the pause to try to repair what damage her earlier words had done, to restore the passion she found herself missing more than she would have believed possible.

"Let's go somewhere else."

Lifting his head from the book he looked at her quizzically. "Where do you want to go?"

She had to force herself to keep her eyes on him as she spoke. "A place where the words 'Assassin' and 'Templar' mean nothing."

"We are in such a place now, just as we are every time we find ourselves alone." He glanced over his shoulder at the tents behind them. "Have you been treated poorly?"

Reaching for a book she shook her head. "No, everyone has been far kinder than I could have expected."

He had nodded and proceeded to show her some of the pages in the book he had marked for her. The rest of that night had gone well, the mood had been lifted, but Maria found herself unable to concentrate on his words. She had made a discovery of her own – she was falling in love with the assassin.

It was thanks to her being quartered with the women she had learned of one of the dancers' more than passing interest in her companion and of her plans to seduce him at the very feast now torturing her senses. The beat had quickened to an almost dizzying pace; the dancers would now be moving at a speed which would draw attention to every moving bump and curve on their bodies.

Maria looked over to the open doors that lead to her balcony. "I should close them and shut out that infernal noise!"

About to get up to do that very thing, footsteps in the hallway outside stopped her. Continuing to her feet she altered her course to the door and listened to the male voices moving outside her room.

"Are you sure I cannot convince you to stay a while longer? We have barely touched my library."

"My thanks for your generous offer, but we set out to travel to India, and I feel the time is right to continue that journey."

Qamar sounded disappointed and Maria could sympathise with that. She too had come to dread the day the assassin left her life. "Perhaps on your return you will do me the honour of visiting?"

Altaïr's voice became muffled as he turned the corner but she could make out him suggesting that would be highly likely. Her joy at the news they would be moving on erased any trace of her earlier annoyance, and wearing the biggest smile she had managed in weeks, she moved to her small bundle of possessions to begin packing.

"I should go ask what time we will be leaving." She had made it clear across to the door before she remembered he hadn't actually told her of his plans yet, and so spent the time moving along the hall concocting a reasonable excuse to show up unannounced at his door to give him the chance to tell her his "news."

Just before she reached the corner she heard a light rapping sound and stopped. The sound again, a hand on a door, and edging to the corner she peered around. Bujah the bloody dancer was standing bold as brass outside Altaïr's door, her hand poised to deliver another knock, when it was pulled open. She saw the shape of him in the doorway, but pulled her head back around the corner before he put his head out, sure he would have known she was there watching. The sneaky bastard seemed to have a sixth sense about things like that.

Hearing his soft voice greeting her felt like a knife in her heart, but Maria Thorpe wasn't the sort of woman who bore pain with dignity, and so she made her way to the garden scowling and kicking out at anything unfortunate enough to come within range of her foot.

"Fucking painted Jezebel, what sort of woman would go knocking on a man's door in the middle of the night?" Ignoring the fact that she had been about to the same thing she continued. "And him, just like the man he is, all smiles and fawning; well, she can bloody well have him, and with my blessing!"

She entered the garden muttering curses and wishing them all manner of poxes, but her reflex reaction to what she had seen wasn't heartfelt. The knot of pain in her stomach, the tears glistening in her eyes which would not be permitted to fall, were both far more sincere expressions of her true feelings, but she would deny those until Hell froze over.

Walking towards a beautifully ornate fountain she stopped and sat on the bench facing it, the window of his room just overhead. The doors were closed and the drapes drawn over the windows, but his lamps were still burning. Maria forced her gaze away, sure in the knowledge that if she kept looking she would see the lovers' silhouette framed in the window.

When had this change happened, when had she become this woman who would allow a man into her heart to inflict whatever damage he saw fit? When had she stopped seeing him as a friend? She realised she hadn't and he had never tried to make her see him as anything else and that was the root of her problem. He let her be herself, never telling her how to behave or how a woman should dress. She became so at ease with him, this friend that she had let her guard down entirely leaving her wide open to this nonsense which now spread unfettered through her brain.

Dragging a hand over her tightly plaited hair she glanced once more at his window where thankfully there were no shapes to add to the misery her own imagination was inflicting on her.

"Take hold of yourself, Maria. This is not who you are."

She spoke the words with far more conviction than she felt, and stayed put in the seat, not knowing what to do. She could never tell him how she felt - that would be ruinous - but could she continue on with him, suffering the fleeting glances of his chest as he washed, or his eyes as the light caught them in spite of his hood?

What choice did she have? Rush up to his chamber declaring her newfound love for him and imploring him not to take another to his bed? . . . She would die before she would humble herself in that way. No, things would go on as they had, and she would learn to control her foolish heart.

Of course she looked back to his window, and this time his room was in darkness; he had been unable to resist her charms. What else could she have expected? The woman was like an exotic bird of paradise with her flimsy, colourful clothes and her glowing olive skin, whereas she ... Maria looked down at her own travel-battered clothes and winced. Had she really expected him to see her as a woman when she did all she could to deny that was what she truly was?

"Maria..."

A soft male voice interrupted her damaging thoughts, and Maria turned to greet the owner of the voice.

* * *

BIG thank you to Saphruikan (Saphira and shruikan) for editing and correcting this for me and for helping to make this fic "The best it can be" :)


	2. Chapter 2

Altaïr moved from behind the desk Qamar had provided for him in his bedchamber, arms laden with parchments and scrolls he had acquired from the merchant. His saddlebag was already full to bursting, but he was confident he could make room for the items without having to leave behind anything important. He would finish up here before going to Maria to give her the news of their departure, news he felt sure would earn him a smile.

His meeting with Qamar had not been the random thing Maria had believed it to be; his family and the order Altaïr led had a long standing contract: the assassins provided his caravans with an escort to ensure safe passage through the bandit-troubled land, and the money they received in return guaranteed the assassins could afford to remain independent and impartial.

The time he had spent in the company of Qamar and his scholars had been undeniably beneficial to him, but as the days passed he had begun to notice that travelling with the caravan was having a negative effect on Maria. For the sake of propriety she had lived with the women, but Maria did not flourish in such restricted circumstances, and he quickly began to regret his choice. Leaving the caravan would have been offensive and financially devastating to his order, so he had done all he could to amuse her until they could reach the merchant's home, at which point he felt he could part company with the man without causing a rift between them.

Still many days away from his home, Qamar had appeared in Altaïr's tent, bearing news of a feast he planned to throw on their arrival.

"It's something we always do after a successful trip, and this time we have another reason to celebrate - you will be the guest of honour."

Bowing his head, he thanked his host but internally he was less than happy about the feast, another thing Maria would be excluded from. "I, of course, will stay for the feast, but my plans to spend time at your home beyond that need to be cut short. As I told you, we are moving towards India and the trip has already fallen far behind schedule; at this rate, I will never return to my brothers."

"Ah, you say that now, but I have faith once you see such treasures as I have in my library you will forget you ever wanted to be anywhere else." The merchant moved to a small chest in the corner and dropped down upon it, his red robes fanning out behind him.

"You are undoubtedly a fortunate man to have such an impressive collection at your disposal, but I doubt I will further delay our trip."

"Your companion..." Qamar was thirty-two and already a father of three, and no stranger to the moods of the weaker sex, but this Englishwoman had proved unfathomable to him. "She is an odd woman, is she not?"

Altaïr kept his expression blank as he regarded the man. "Odd is one way of saying it, but I prefer to think of her as interesting."

The two men guarding the tent, men who Maria would later hear recounting part of this conversation, grinned at each other, but kept as silent as they were expected to be. Their master, however, had no such limitations upon him.

"Altaïr, she is a Templar and makes no effort to disguise that fact. Do you not think she would have benefitted from you taking her aside and advising her to make more of an effort to fit in during her time with us?"

"Are you suggesting I should tell her to stop wearing her tunics? Should she wear a veil and cover herself as the other women do?"

Qamar scoffed and waved his hand at the younger man. "Don't be absurd! I am not ignorant of the ways of the world. A woman should only cover herself if she feels it is the proper thing to do. I would never force such a thing, but her tunic … that is another matter entirely, my friend."

"She would still be the same 'odd' woman no matter how she clothed herself. It makes it easier for you to categorise her, but you would have reached the same conclusion in the end, cross or no cross." Taking a seat so he appeared more relaxed than he felt, he continued. "She is my friend, Qamar, not my property. I cannot tell her how to behave, nor would I want to. If you feel her presence is ... provocative, feel free to say so, and we shall leave with no further delay."

"Nonsense, my friend, it is merely a subject which interests me, nothing more. It is good to question what we think we know regarding all aspects of life, and she certainly poses many questions."

Qamar moved onto another topic and quickly forgot the woman, but Altaïr did not. Later, when he was alone, he had a good deal of time to consider his friend's words. Maria's behaviour when he had invited her to study with him had confused him, but here, alone in his tent, he understood what she must be feeling. She had made every effort not to impose herself on their hosts and still it wasn't enough. Her suggestion that they 'go somewhere else' intrigued him. Where in the world would their differences go unnoticed?

A soft tapping on the door drew his mind back to the present and, taking some time to carefully place his bundles on the bed, he moved to answer the knock. It was one of the dancers from the feast.

"Good evening."

"Shalom, Master Altaïr. My name is Bujah, and I am here to see if I can be of ... service to you."

Her dusky eyes told him what her words could not say. She was offering herself to him and, considering where he had grown up and what delights lived in the garden there, he should not have been surprised, and yet ... he found himself looking along the hall, feeling unseen eyes on him, but seeing no one there he returned his attention the beauty in his doorway.

"I am departing at first light and have everything I need to facilitate that, but I thank you for your generous offer."

She stepped back from him, looking stunned, and why not? Men would beg for a taste of what he had just dismissed out of hand. The sheer fabric of her blue skirts rustled as she moved away from him, bowing her head with the first signs of a blush on her cheeks. "I will bid you good night, then, Master."

He returned her parting message and closed the door, smirking as he remembered how uncomfortable he had felt after dinner when the dancing had begun. He wasn't blind to the beauty of the women, but he had never been comfortable with such obvious displays, and so he had quickly made his excuses and left. Still, the fact that he would be unwilling to entertain one of those beauties in the privacy of his own room was a new thing, but he never had to pause to wonder why. Pulling open the door, he left to find the cause of this most recent of changes.

"Maria ..."

She stood from the bench, taken aback by this unexpected visitor. Qamar's younger brother stood behind her, apparently pleased he had managed to startle the woman. "Farooq. I came outside for some air. it is stifling inside."

"Please sit; it was not my intention to startle you." Waving an arm over the bench she had just sprung out of, he sat on the far side. "I am sorry you could not take part in tonight's festivities, but the merchant's guild is an old-fashioned group."

Leaving as much of the bench between them as possible, she sat down; placing her hands in her lap she waited to see what he would say.

"It seems you will be leaving us tomorrow, which is a real pity. I had hoped to get to know you better."

Best behaviour or not, she wasn't fast enough to keep the incredulous expression from her face.

He chuckled as he inched a little closer to her on the bench. "I don't blame you for doubting me, but I can assure you my words are sincere. You come from a far off land and can share stories from the place, and tell what life is like for our brothers in the west."

"I see. Perhaps you could have approached me sooner. I have had nothing but free time these past few weeks."

Another movement in her direction, one that she noticed and let him see her notice. "The assassin is very fond of you, Maria. Would it be inappropriate if I asked you the nature of your relationship?"

"Yes, it would be, but no matter." Lifting herself from the bench she bowed. "I'll leave you to enjoy your beautiful garden in peace; it is high time I got some sleep."

Determined to keep her pace steady she made her way to the house, but when she passed under and arched gazebo she felt fingers on her arm. "Forgive me if I offended you, but I merely wanted to establish if you were free to be ... pursued."

The man now holding her arm was not only powerful, but a friend to Altaïr, and for that reason she attempted to maintain her composure. "I'm free in every sense of the word, Farooq, but since I have no desire to be 'pursued,' we can bring this discussion to an amicable conclusion now, before we give each other cause to be angry."

Unbelievably, he raised his fingers to brush her cheek as he mumbled something about how pale her skin was. Catching his arm, she forcefully put it by his side and made to move off. "You could easily be beautiful, but you clothe yourself as a man and cover up all that is feminine about you. Why do you not make more of yourself?"

Neither of them noticed the figure in white standing in the entrance to the garden, watching this exchange with his fist clenched and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"You really must move aside and let me go to my room. I have no intention of discussing my life choices with you." He never moved closer or further from her, but she could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the half-closed eyes; she had been around enough men to know lust when she saw it ... "Go back now to the women who so enflamed your senses and leave me alone. Do not fool yourself into believing that I will tolerate this behaviour from you."

He seemed not to have heard her words, "I can have them anytime I want them. Life has blessed me with the ability to indulge every whim." She moved towards him as he reached for her. "I want to know what he sees in you."

If he took her advance as an invitation he was very much mistaken; she was simply better placing herself to deal with any threat which he might offer, something she was close to doing when a new voice stopped her.

"He sees a strong women who knows what she wants, and who is confident enough to reject what she doesn't."

Both pairs of eyes turned in his direction when he spoke, and as Altaïr stepped out from the shadow Farooq moved to meet him. "I had done no wrong. She is not spoken for."

"Both those facts are true, but your advances have been refused, and now I suggest you leave her alone before she does you harm."

The words "And if she doesn't, I will" were not spoken, but the threat was clearly implied. Watching him until he left before turning to Maria, the assassin crossed the garden to her.

Being around this man was probably the last thing she needed at that moment, but as was her habit, she used the pain she felt inside to fuel the poison in her words. "I was on my way to your room, but when I got there you had another visitor, one who I'm sure is more than a little disappointed with your performance. Really, Altaïr, I left the house only moments ago. Is that the best you can do?"

Ignoring her slight on his masculinity, he dealt with only the facts of her statement. "I sent her away, but more importantly, why were you coming to see me?"

Usually quick when it came to pulling a lie out of thin air, Maria stumbled briefly before she offered a weak excuse. "I was bored and wondered if you would like to talk." Looking to the house so he wouldn't see the soft smile that had crept onto her face, she tried to divert the conversation. ""You are full of surprises tonight."

"There was more than one surprise?"

_Shit!_ Thinking fast it seemed was not on the menu tonight. "I may have overheard you telling Qamar we will be leaving in the morning."

He nodded but said nothing. Trying to ignore the satisfied smirk he was wearing she prodded further. "I caught a glimpse of his books; surely you have good reason to stay."

"You are unhappy, and that is more than enough reason to leave."

This time her smile was not only noticed but encouraging; he moved towards her and was now standing closer to her than even Farooq had dared, but his proximity was not unwelcome. "You saw the woman and left believing I would spend the night with her?"

Shrugging, she replied, "Who you spent your nights with is no concern of mine, assassin!"

He spent several seconds searching her face before he reached for her hand and pulled her along behind him. "Come with me."

Unable to free her arm she dug her feet into the earth, trying to halt his progress. "Let me go, I can walk on my own, and where exactly is it we are going?"

He stopped walking and licked his lips. "Somewhere else ..." he said, before taking hold of her again and leading them away from the house.


	3. Chapter 3

He led her to the end of the garden, not stopping until they were fully beneath the canopy of a grove of pale silk floss trees. Most of the flowers were still on the branches, but their petals were beginning to fall, carpeting the ground with a fragile silk coat. Maria was tempted to remove her boots and see what they would feel like against her skin, but she quashed the foolish notion and squinted up between the branches to see what position the low moon held in the sky.

"It is very late now, Altaïr, and if we are to travel in the morning we should get some rest."

"We will be back soon enough, Maria. I wanted to get you away from the other people to remind you what things are like between us when there is no one to point out our differences."

Looking around, she had no idea what he was getting at. "It is pretty, but you said you were taking me somewhere else."

"So I have. You said you wanted to go to a place where the words 'assassin' and 'Templar' have no meaning. This is such a place."

Understanding dawned as she recalled his previous response to her suggestion. "You are still an assassin, and I a Templar."

Cupping her hands between his, he pressed further. "Do you feel like my enemy?"

"No, but –"

"Then the words have no meaning."

Slowly raising her eyes to his, she spoke sadly of their circumstances. "This is the only time we can be like this, isn't it? There is no place in the world where we won't be seen as opposites: Christian and Muslim, Templar and Assassin."

"You speak the truth, Maria, that is how we will most often be perceived, but the benefit is we can always have your 'somewhere else.' Simply by closing a door, or walking to the other side of the garden, we can be alone, and then the only thing that matters is how we feel."

Her throat constricted as she began to assimilate what he was saying. "I just – it would be so difficult."

"My mother was a Christian, albeit a Turk, so visibly not so different from the people she settled with, but from what I can remember she always held onto her own faith. You can live among people who think differently to you without having to compromise your own opinions."

Her fingers twitched in his hands; he closed his own tighter around hers.

"Your Mother was not a Templar who had waged war against the very people she was living amongst."

His scarred lip twitched at her words. "That is true, but you are not that person anymore. We both have less than glorious incidents in our past, but are we to allow those to shape our future? The past is something to be learned from and then left behind, Maria."

Maria closed her eyes to enjoy the soft caress of a passing breeze that carried along with it the delicate scent of the silk flowers scattered above and below them. When she once more opened them she was greeted by the sight of the assassin staring intently at her face. There had been no declaration of affection from either party, but both knew well the intent of the other, and Maria's feelings were mixed. If they did this, he would change towards her for better or worse; the line would be crossed. What hung in the balance was a friendship unlike any she had ever experienced, weighted against taking a lover she knew people would never allow her to keep. No matter what he said, life would find a way to separate them.

"If we change how things are between us, it can never be undone."

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs stroking the now flushed skin of her cheeks. "Nor would I ever wish it to be."

His face was inches from hers, and their eyes were locked together. The easiest and most natural thing in the world would be for her to lean into him and kiss his beautiful mouth, but something held her back.

Softly tugging his hands from her face she looked around at her surroundings, this opulent paradise designed to seduce the eyes of any who gazed with envy upon it. "I don't belong in a place like this and I'm glad of it. I was born into a world of privilege, and it took a long time for me to see that everything we had came at a cost, but it was the commoners who worked on my father's land who bore the brunt of that burden, slaving away to pay him the lion's share of what they earned for the right to stay there and work for him for another year."

"Life is full of injustice, which is exactly what we assassins fight to end."

"As do the Templars. Altaïr, I know our logic was flawed, but the reasoning behind it was sound."

"You mean to return to them one day?"

"I mean to continue fighting for what I believe in. I sacrificed much to achieve what I did, and I won't let it end with a whimper."

Moving from the cocoon of the trees, she sat on the edge of a small pond, trailing her fingers through the water and watching the ripples spread across the once-still surface, disturbing the perfect moon reflected there.

Altaïr moved beside but sat a few feet away, not in the least surprised by her unwillingness to let their relationship become more intimate, but he was disappointed. "You believe you have to be with your brothers in order for you to continue your work?"

Keeping her eyes on the water, she nodded slowly.

"I would not hinder you, Maria. Surely you know that."

This time she did look at him, and he saw the resolve in her eyes. "Yes, you would; you, or any man for that matter. I would become a wife, then one day inevitably a mother, and I can think of no bigger hindrance to my plans than a child."

"And you would teach that child to see the world as you do, thus continuing your work, Maria. One person cannot win a war; the battle will be won in the hearts and minds, not with swords, but with words and wisdom."

When she arched her eyebrow he knew what was coming, that which always came when he suggested violence would not win the day. "That deadly little secret you carry on your left wrist whispers another message, assassin, but those who hear it never survive long enough to spread its wisdom."

"We kill who we must and we proselytise when we can. A man can be killed, Maria but an idea, a suggestion lives on. How do you kill what you cannot see or touch? The Templars sought to destroy knowledge, and had Jubair succeeded in burning every text in Dimashq, he would have achieved nothing beyond a gesture. The information would have lived on in the people, and it is those people we must seek to educate."

"You talk in circles, Altaïr, but you know nothing speaks louder than action."

"Then we must find a new way to communicate our message, open our doors to new people from all backgrounds. In this way we will plant the seeds for peace. It may be many years before those seeds bear fruit, and I may never live to see it, but it will happen."

He moved closer to her as he spoke, but it was his desire to reach her mentally which fuelled the movement, and she found herself once more only inches from his hooded face.

"I know you mean what you say, but I cannot agree with it." She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

Lifting himself to his feet, he pulled her up with him, "You need to sleep, and we will have a great many hours to continue this discussion as we travel."

Now face to face with the man who only moments before had her on the verge of submission, she smiled. "I have no doubt you will talk, but I won't be easily shifted from my views."

Once more alone in his room the assassin went over the meeting with Maria. For a second he had believed they would kiss and from there, who knows what would happen? But her fear of an ordinary life had stopped her embracing him. He needed to make her understand he would never extinguish the fires which burned within her, but time would aid him, and if she never accepted it, if all she would ever be was his friend, then he too would accept that.

Lying on top of his bed, he folded his arms over his chest and allowed himself a small smile as he remembered her words about being a wife and mother. The idea of such a fierce woman ever letting anyone control her life was so absurd to him, but it was strange that she couldn't see that no matter where she went or what she did, Maria Thorpe would always choose her own path. It was the thing he loved most about her.

* * *

4 months later

She ducked under a wagon and made a dive for the long grass at the side of the road. Altaïr was running towards her at full speed and she wondered how he could keep his footing while moving so damn fast. The guards were close by; she could hear their shouts from a nearby street, but they would never catch him.

He dropped down beside her in the grass and smiled. "You were right; there are some things we should leave alone."

"I'm always right, but you are too thick-headed to accept that."

The guards appeared in the street, looking into barrels and carts for their quarry, and Maria had to hold in a laugh until she saw a long snout in front of her. "Shoo, go away."

The mutt wagged its tail at the woman who had fed him scraps and barked happily. She felt his fingers wrap around her arm and yank her to her feet. "Run for the rooftops."

Her feet were pounding the earth as he dragged her behind him. An arrow flew past her head; she could feel it brush against her hair. "The rooftops- you can't be serious! Altaïr, I'm not a bloody cat."

His fingers held tight enough to mark her skin as he pulled her in front of him and pushed her onto a low roof, his hand indelicately shoving her arse to make her go faster. Joining her there they found a path to the higher roofs and kept running. He came to a sudden stop and changed direction, dragging her into a roof garden.

"Stay low and quiet."

"They are not halfwits, Altaïr, they will look in here."

He grinned. "You never did."

"Why, you –" But her words were cut off with his hand over her mouth.

"Shh."

She heard the guards coming to them and tried to still her pounding heart, sure that any second they would pull the burlap aside and drive their swords into the sitting ducks, but the footsteps passed them by, and minutes later everything was silent.

His hand moved from her head, allowing her to lift it, grinning and still breathless, her cheeks heavily flushed from the exertion of the flight. "How the hell did we get away from them?"

"Some skill, some luck, who can say?"

Their faces were inches apart and their eyes locked together. He made no effort to close the distance between them; if that ever happened it would have to be her doing it. Remembering the time in the garden when she rejected him he said, "We've been here before."

She smiled and drew in a heavy breath. How could she ever have believed he would make her life boring?

"That was somewhere else in another lifetime ..."

Her eyes closed as she brought her mouth to his and felt his lips against hers for the first time; every nerve in her body seemed to be screaming their approval of this decision. She felt his hands once more on the soft flesh of her cheeks and his tongue run along her lips. She knew it would be useless to fight what she felt, and stopped trying. Some things were just meant to be …


End file.
